


lightning strikes on lonely nights

by frosty_grass



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anyways, Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, Merlin is a good friend, Thunderstorms, arthur is vulnerable, but i guess you could also read it as close friends, i guess its merthur because all my fics are merthur, if you squint? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosty_grass/pseuds/frosty_grass
Summary: One-shot in which Merlin appreciates a thunderstorm, and Arthur does not.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	lightning strikes on lonely nights

**Author's Note:**

> Well, having just said that I have very little Merthur content left to post, I decided to IMMEDIATELY prove myself wrong by staying up for an hour and a half to write this when I should have been getting my beauty sleep. Inspiration always strikes me at night for whatever reason, which is super inconvenient when you get up at 6am every day for work!! Oh well, sleep is for the weak, writers don't need that shit.  
> (I kid, sleep is v important and v good for you and if you're reading this instead of sleeping STOP IT)  
> Anyways, enjoy!

Another roll of thunder rumbles its way through the muggy night air, and Merlin hovers by the open window to watch. The mood of the whole of Camelot feels different on these nights, he thinks - a quiet yet buzzing sense of camaraderie between all those in the castle, united beneath the tension of black skies and the threat of sweet, cooling rain. Unspoken excitement lingers in the looks between servants as they pass in the corridors, commoners and noblemen united by nervous laughter when a clap of thunder makes them all jump in momentary fright. 

But Merlin doesn’t jump. It’s almost as though he can feel the noise coming before it actually happens, as though - 

“Merlin.”

Sighing, he turns from the window, away from the pinprick lights of the lower town beneath the vastness of the roiling skies. 

“Yes, Sire?” 

Arthur is sitting at the head of his empty dining table, where he has been for the past three hours. Sheets of parchment are littered beneath his hands, some folded, some pristine, all containing reams of text and _all_ very, very important. 

Apparently. 

Arthur’s hair is messy and a little oily from where he’s been pulling at it - he does that, when he’s trying to think, chewing on the end of his quill and tapping his foot. The sleeves of his tunic - a royal red, today - are rolled up to his elbows, and in an unusual change, Merlin notices, Arthur’s feet are bare on the stone floor. 

“Make up the bed for me, will you? I think it’s time I retired for the night.” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

Arthur doesn’t look up from his parchments as Merlin makes his way over to the bed and begins folding back the elaborate covers, just the way Arthur likes it. 

_Here it comes,_ Merlin thinks as he fluffs a pillow. 

He doesn’t miss the way Arthur’s shoulders tense moments later when the thunderclap hits, the way his fingers tighten imperceptibly around his quill, the way his breathing remains constant, _too_ constant, like he’s forcing normality. 

“All done, Sire.” 

Arthur doesn’t respond, and so Merlin returns to the window, just as the first heavy drops of rain begin to patter against the glass. Some make their way inside, wet splotches on the stone sill. Another rumble, this time lower, and gentler, disguises the sound of Arthur pushing his chair back from the table, and when he walks barefoot he’s as quiet as a mouse. Merlin jumps when his voice sounds right behind him. 

“Anything interesting out there, Merlin?”

The lacing of Arthur’s signature sarcastic condescension isn’t missed by Merlin, but as always he ignores it. 

“Don’t you think summer storms are exciting?” 

Arthur sighs. Merlin watches his reflection in the glass, watches Arthur watching him, one eyebrow raised in a bad attempt at exasperation. 

“You would probably think that watching my boot polish dry is exciting. I hardly think your standards are anything to go by.” 

Merlin does turn to Arthur then, snorting his derision with a wicked grin. “No, mending your socks is far better. Nothing gets me so fired up as keeping your royal toes warm.” 

Arthur almost smiles then. Merlin watches him hold it in, watches him hold his composure so impressively. But it’s there, the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth, the gleam in his eye. 

“Alright, _Mer_ lin. No one likes a clever clogs.” 

“Did you just call me clever?”

“Shut up.” 

“You did, didn’t you.”

“Merlin.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let you forget _that_ , Sire!”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Arthur’s commanding tone comes out, his jaw set, his brows raised, as if to dare Merlin to carry on speaking. 

Merlin does shut his mouth, but the look on his face is one that says _this isn’t over until I say so_ , and he knows Arthur understands, knows he can read him like a book. The parts of the book that Merlin lets him read, anyway. There are some chapters better kept under lock and key, for now. 

The rain comes heavier now, lashing against the windows, pooling on the sill. Arthur’s gaze shifts, past Merlin and out into the driving rain, but Merlin’s stays exactly where it is. As such, he has the best view when the next roll of thunder is swiftly followed by a sharp crack of lightning that makes Arthur flinch, but illuminates his features in the darkness, picking out all of his angles and leaving harsh lines across his face. It’s different to the way candlelight paints him, soft and warm. The harsh bright of the night sky makes him look ethereal, just for a moment. Merlin wonders if that’s what ghosts look like. 

Merlin blinks when Arthur turns back to the room, striding away from Merlin, hands massaging a knot in the back of his neck before they pull his tunic off in a swift, well-practiced manner. 

He drops it to the floor, and Merlin is there to pick it up before it even hits the ground, so used to Arthur’s bad habits by now that he could serve him in his sleep. He thinks he probably _has_ , once or twice, when destiny has kept him awake all night and exhaustion overtakes him. 

Arthur disappears behind a changing screen, breeches thrown casually over the top of it, well-timed against another strike of lightning. 

Merlin takes them down, folds them, places them back where they belong, averts his eyes when Arthur reappears in sleeping trousers and a crisp white tunic, unlaced all the way down to the middle of his chest. There’s something divine in the way that the white of his shirt makes his hair more golden, like flax under the summer sun. 

Done with arranging and rearranging Arthur’s clothing, Merlin pushes the drawer shut softly. 

“Will that be all, Sire?” 

He doesn’t look at Arthur when he speaks, for he knows that Arthur would never speak the truth under his gaze. Some pretence of privacy, of anonymity, is required before Uther Pendragon’s son will admit to weakness. 

Even with Merlin’s back turned, it’s a long while before Arthur speaks. 

“You know what I would ask of you.” 

“I do, Sire.” 

A pause. 

“You know you don’t have to.” 

Merlin takes a chance now, half-turning to meet Arthur’s gaze, blue even in the darkness. 

“You know I would never refuse.” 

It’s the closest they’ve come to talking about it, this once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, on nights where storms ravage the skies and lash rain down upon Camelot. It is on these nights when Arthur requests Merlin to _just stay, please, until I fall asleep_ , because despite all the horrors of battle and the atrocities Arthur has witnessed, his most childish, innate fear is thunder and lightning, and having company somehow makes it bearable. 

So Merlin does stay, limbs stiffening in the chair beside Arthur’s bed, until his breaths fall slow and deep and even, and the thunder and lightning give way to soft, persistent rain. He stays until the first rays of sunshine begin to creep through cracks in the cloud, and Arthur is safe once more. 

He stays because he wants to, he has to, he must. 

He stays because Arthur asks. And Merlin could never refuse his King. 


End file.
